


Dr. Serious & Mr. Hotshot

by aseaofwords



Series: The Kazer Collections [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jonny's a doctor, Kaner's a bit of an asshole, Kaner's a hockey player, Kazer, M/M, Sharpy and Shawzy are nurses, but Jonny loves him anyways
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2017-12-04
Packaged: 2019-02-10 09:29:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12909117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aseaofwords/pseuds/aseaofwords
Summary: "Did you save a life?""Sure did.""That's my boy."Or, that one AU where Jonny’s a doctor and Kaner’s a hockey player, and Jonny’s got a bad past.





	Dr. Serious & Mr. Hotshot

**Author's Note:**

> I love this a lot okay. There's Dr. Toews and hockey player!Kaner and nurses!Sharpy and Shawzy, Dr. Lundqvist, Dr. Connor McDavid, and precious little Sidney. 
> 
> I'm in love

He'd worked really hard to get here. Straight A’s all through high school, 95’s and above in college, and as much volunteer work and internships as he possibly could. It terrified him to start a job and end up accidentally killing someone. He had to be prepared.  

Jonathan opened his locker in the back rooms, putting his wallet and keys and other things that he didn't need into it. He smoothed out his light blue scrubs and made sure he looked presentable before he walked out and clocked in. 

It was difficult sometimes, being a trauma doctor. He had to deal with the families of the patient, the patient themselves, and then there were the surgeries, which, Jonathan was very good at – the best in Chicago, according to his award – but he didn't like doing them because he didn't want something to go wrong on his part. Luckily, though, nothing ever had. 

“Morning, Tazer.” Jonny’s main nurse Patrick Sharp, greeted as he clocked in and signed his name on the entry clipboard, “How was your night?” 

Jonathan rolled his eyes as he slung his stethoscope around his neck. “You'd be better off asking me about the weather.”

Sharp just laughed and clapped the doctor on the back. “I'm guessing it was like all other times – you, sitting at home, watching reruns of Hallmark medical movies and yelling at the tv about everything they got wrong.”

Jonathan huffed. “You make it sound like I was alone.”

Sharpy rolled his eyes. “Ah, yes, let's not forget your precious little kitten.”

“Hey, fuck you,” Jonathan glared, “Snowball is great company.”

Sharpy just laughed at him again and shook his head. “We've got to find you a guy, man.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes and reached a hand over the desk to Maggie, who handed him a file. “Let's just finish today’s shift, yeah?” He opened the file and sighed. “Seems like we've got a concussion and possible bone fractures from a couple of frat boys. 

Sharpy heaved a groan. “I'll get the nausea bucket.”

 

_______________

 

Goals, goals, cheerleaders, goals. Those were the main priorities for him. He had to be the best. He was the best, and he refused to let anyone take that title from him. 

Patrick Kane wasn't the best as pep talks or smart decision making, which is why he wore an ‘A’ on his chest instead of a ‘C’, like Seabs. Seabs was a good captain, no doubt, but it made Patrick a little jealous from time to time. Oh well, at least he was a letter up from Saader. 

“Ready for the game tonight, man?” Duncs asked, skating over and jumping, slamming his arm into Kaner’s. “The Bruins are a tough-ass team. Not to mention, this is their turf.”

Kaner scoffed at him. “Do you know who I am,” he questioned, “Do you _know_ who I _am_? Of course I'm ready. We’re gonna kick some Bruin ass!” The boys around him whooped and hollered as they began practice with enough energy to fuel the sun. 

“Hey, guys,” Seabs spoke when practice was over and they were changing in the visitor’s locker rooms, “I know that brawling with opponents is fun and all, trust me, I do-” 

The team cheered and pushed one another around, some getting thrown into the lockers. 

“-but as most of you know, Dr. Keller was transferred to Dallas to be a full-time surgeon, and was replaced by Dr. Green.”  

Some of them guys grimaced. 

“Yeah, yeah I know. Listen,” their captain continued, “Green is one of those doctors who doesn't care, as long as he gets paid. The more we play, the more money he makes. I've been trying to talk to Q about finding a new team doc, but it doesn't look like it'll happen. So please, try not to get into too many fights, okay? We don't need one of our own going down in the middle of a game because he got a concussion in a prior one, and Green didn't give a flying fuck.”

There were a couple groans and the tell-tale sound of someone punching a locker. But, they all agreed, nevertheless, and continued to get dressed. Patrick, however, sat on the bench, laughing to himself. He'd be fine if he got into a fight. He'd gotten into plenty before. Nothing was about to change. 

_______________

 

“Can you tell me what happened?” Jonathan asked as he examined the young frat boy, surrounded by his friends, all clearly drunk, except the boy on the bed. He shined a light in the kid’s eyes and told him to follow it. 

The boy looked a bit nervous and some heat uncomfortable. Sharpy, from across the small area, cleaning supplies, raised an eyebrow. Jonathan clicked off the light and dropped it in his pocket. 

“I'm going to need you boys to wait in the lobby, okay?” He told the frat boys, who groaned in unison. Sharpy shoved them out of the room, through the curtains with a “Move it, you filthy maggots!" 

Jonathan turned back to the boy and asked again, “Can you tell me what happened?”

The boy seemed relieved that his friends wouldn't be there. “We were playing truth or dare. James dared me to either drink a cup of mayo, ketchup, water, and orange juice, or get hit in the head with a bat. I didn't wanna drink that! That's nasty.”

“So you're okay with getting smashed in the head with a bat?” Jonathan quirked an eyebrow, rubbing the kid's neck muscles to search for any rips or bleeding. 

“Hell no, man,” the boy grumbled, “but they wouldn't let me out’a the dare.”

Jonathan frowned and came back in front of him, testing his reflexes. “What's your name, kid?" 

“Tommy.”

“Well, Tommy, it seems to me that they aren't really your friends.” He concluded, before patting the kid’s knee. “Doesn't look like a concussion, and there aren't any signs of brain bleeding. Take some Excedrin twice a day for two days. If your head still hurts or gets worse, come back.”

The boy nodded and hopped off the bed. “Thanks, Dr. Toes." 

“It's actually pronounced Taves.”

“Oh, okay. Thanks Dr. Toews.” 

Tommy walked out, but paused when he heard Jonathan call out for him. “Yeah?" 

Jonathan smiled sympathetically, “Next time? Choose truth.”

Tommy cracked a smile. “Will do, sir.”

An hour later, Jonathan was perched on Maggie’s desk, watching a hockey game with Sharpy and the rookie nurse, Shawzy,during their break. Apparently, the Blackhawks were playing an afternoon game against the Bruins up in Boston. Being based in Chicago, Jonathan was a pretty good fan of the Blackhawks. Though, being from Winnipeg, he was a hard-core Jets fan. 

“Look at ‘em go,” the doctor chanted, chewing on a piece of pizza they'd ordered for their lunch break, “Look at ‘em go. Go, go, go- _score_! ‘Atta boy, Burish!” Maggie, Sharpy, and Shawzy looked at Jonathan fondly.

Sharpy patted his friend on the thigh. “Calm down there, Doctor Serious,” he chuckled, “You'll start showing _emotion_.” Jonathan just flipped him off. 

The teams started another play, the Blackhawks leading the first period 1-0 against the Bruins, when Kane was suddenly slammed into the boards by Charlie McAvoy. His head hit the glass, and he stumbled, falling head-first onto the ice. All four of the medical workers ‘ooed’ and winced. 

A whistle blew and Duncan Keith, Adam Burish, and John Hayden piled up on McAvoy, along with some of the other Bruins players. It was a full on fist-fight, and Jonathan was so intrigued that he almost missed a ref guiding Kane off the ice and into the tunnel. 

“That has got to be a concussion,” Shawzy gaped, “It _has_ to be.”

Their break time ended, but Maggie kept the game on for them as they worked. Four minutes into the third, Jonathan’s eyes caught sight of the number 88 on the ice. 

“What the hell,” he narrowed his eyes, “Kane has to have a concussion after that. What kind of idiotic doctor-" 

Sharpy and Shawzy just shook their heads at each other, letting Jonathan go on his rant while they tended to incoming patients.

 

_______________ 

 

The next day, Jonathan was on the night shift. Shawzy was scheduled for night shift, too, but praise, he had an amazing friend, and Sharpy was completely fine with coming in for extra hours to hang around with the two. Hey, more money to spend on Abby, he'd said, because he really liked spoiling his wife. 

There was another Blackhawks game tonight, a home game, against the Panthers. It was blacked out, however, since they were playing in Chicago, which meant they couldn't watch it. 

“Fifth of the night, done,” Jonathan sighed, tossing a file onto Maggie’s desk, “God Almighty, how many people run into poles this late at night? That was the _third one_.” 

Shawzy stifled a laugh, “I'm gonna be honest and admit that I'd be the one to run into a pole at night.”

Sharpy rolled his eyes. “We know, Shawz. That's kind of obvious."

Jonathan smiled tiredly and hopped up onto the desk. Usually, he got the more severe cases of trauma, being the best in Chicago, but he was the only trauma doctor working tonight, plus one on call. He was getting annoyed. 

“What time is it?” He asked, blinking as he caught the Red Bull Sharpy slid to him. He took a sip. 

“Only two in the morning.” Maggie replied. 

Jonathan took a heavy gulp. 

“The game must be over by now,” Jonathan hummed, pulling out his phone, “I wonder how it turned out?” He opened the NHL app – yes, he has it – and found the Blackhawks’ profile. “Yeah, it only ended about ten minutes ago. Aw, damn. We lost 6-3 against the Panthers.”

Sharpy grimaced. “Shit, man, they've been playing so well this season. Never lost by more than a point. But three? Damn, wonder what happened.”

That question was answered, because five minutes later, they were getting a call in from an ambulance about a possible concussion, and three minutes after that, paramedics came running in with an unconscious guy on a stretcher. 

Jonathan immediately sprinted into action. He ran over, grabbing hold of the bars on the stretcher and firing out questions. 

“Twenty-nine year old male, possible concussion and internal bleeding, bad cut to the abdomen. We tried to stitch it up, but it was messy. We were focused on his head.” The female paramedic listed off as they pushed the guy into an examination area. 

“Good call. Okay, lift on three.” Jonathan counted to three and the two paramedics, plus Jonny, lifted the guy off the stretcher and onto an examination bed. The female paramedic stayed to explain as Sharpy and Shawzy ran in to help. 

Jonathan took one look at the man and knew that holy shit, that was Patrick Kane. 

“Sir, sir, can you hear me?” Jonathan asked, putting in his stethoscope to listen to his breathing. Kane groaned in pain. 

"Sharp, take his blood pressure. Shaw, look him up to an IV. _Maggie, I need his file, now_!” The people around him began immediately doing as he ordered. Jonathan pulled his stethoscope away and listed off to Sharpy, “Heartbeat’s about sixty BPM. _Maggie, where's that file?_ " 

“Here! It's here.” She squeezed in, handing Jonny the file. Shawz came back in with an IV bag and a stand. 

“His blood type is AB positive, Shaw. Give me a pint and hook him up.” Jonathan ordered, and Andrew scurried away to do as he was told. 

“BP is one fifty over ninety.” Sharpy announced. 

“Shit,” the doctor cursed, “Get him attached to the IV stat.”

Sharpy obliged and Jonathan turned back to Kane. “Mr. Kane? Can you open your eyes for me?” Kane groaned again, but opened his eyes nevertheless. Jonathan shined a light in them as quickly as he could to check pupil dilation and eye reflexes. They were delayed. 

There was shouting coming from. The waiting area, and Shawzy poked his head from around the curtain and handed the pint of blood to Sharpy. “I think Kane’s teammates are here." 

Jonathan huffed. “Go out there and tell them to calm down and whatnot. The usual shit you feed them. Mr. Kane doesn't need that stress.” Shawzy saluted and disappeared again. After awhile, the shouting diminished. 

“He's all hooked up, boss,” Sharpy informed, “Miss, can you explain what happened?” 

The paramedic nodded as Jonny started checking for signs of internal bleeding. “According to his team, one of his opponents high sticked him – whatever that means – hard enough to fall back. He hit the ice and passed out. Head busted open a little, but we were able to stop the bleeding in the ambulance.”

Jonathan muttered curse words to the Panthers’ defense. “Mr. Kane? Mr. Kane, I need you to stay awake. Mr. Kane!” He cursed again. “Sharps, he's fading in and out. I want him taken for a CAT Scan right now. Don't waste any time. We need to go for surgery if there's any internal bleeding." 

Sharpy nodded and began to prep Kane. Jonathan and the paramedic left the curtain and he shook her hand, thanking her for her help. He approached the waiting room, seeing Shawzy struggling to calm the anxious and angry hockey players. 

He walked over and put a hand on Shawzy’s shoulder, ushering him away. “Go page Dr. McDavid; tell him that patient Patrick Kane is in need of an immediate CAT Scan and tag he needs to look for any signs of internal bleeding.”

Shawzy nodded and ran off, happy to be away from the pissed-off players. The doctor sighed and took a deep breath, before going to meet with the team. Their angry bickering was immediately silenced by Jonathan’s presence. 

“Gentlemen,” the doctor greeted, “Judging by your uniforms, I assume you're all here for one Patrick Kane.”

The group nodded and one of them, Jonathan recognized him as Seabrook, stood and shook his hand. “I'm Brent Seabrook, Captain,” he introduced, “How's Kaner?”

“I'm not sure yet,” Jonathan admitted, “We’re taking him for a CAT Scan as we speak to see if there's any internal bleeding. That's my main concern. I examined his head, and it didn't seem like his skull had broken at all, though I can't be one hundred percent sure until I get an x-ray.”

“How can you tell?” Duncan Keith asked, coming up by Seabrook’s side. 

“Well, if it's a bad break, his skin would most likely be cut and his head would be a little lumpy,” Jonathan explained as best he could, “He also wouldn't be as conscious as he was. He was fading in and out of consciousness, so I couldn't ask the necessary questions that would help decipher, but from what I saw, I don't think his skull has broken. I'll be running him through an x-ray machine to be sure, because sometimes, you can't tell from the surface. But my main concern is the internal bleeding. He's conscious enough for his skull to not be a massive problem, but we don't need a bunch of blood filling him up.”

The boys looked a little overwhelmed. Jonathan patted Seabrook on the shoulder. “I've seen people in way worse condition than him, walk out of here like nothing ever happened.”

This seemed to reassure them, but not by much. 

“Dr. Toews? McDavid has the CT results up.” Sharpy called out. “You need to see this.”

Jonathan frowned, as did Burish. “That didn't sound good.” The hockey player eyed him anxiously. 

Jonathan gave him a small smile. “I'll be back soon.” He quickly made his way down the talk to the CT room. “Connor,” he greeted, “Please give me some good news.”

Connor gave him a head shake. “I wish I could, Toews,” he sighed, “Look here. His head seems to not have any bleeding in it, which is good. Definitely a concussion, but nothing too bad.” Then, he put his finger on another picture, pointing to Kane’s neck. “However, I can't say the same for his neck.”

“Shit, that's not good,” Jonathan muttered. 

Connor shook his head. “There's blood around the top Mr. Kane’s neck and the bottom of his skull, surrounding the brain stem." 

“We need to perform surgery,” Jonathan sighed, “God, what did Kane do during that game?”

“I don't know, Jon, but this needs to be fixed.” Connor looked at him sympathetically. 

 Jonathan nodded, “I'll page Lundqvist and we’ll prep Kane for surgery.”

Saying it to Dr. McDavid was a lot easier than say it to the team. They completely freaked out, and Jonathan nearly yelled at them because he was on a very tight schedule with this. 

“Listen to me,” he snapped, “I have the best neurosurgeon I've ever seen going in with me, and wonderful nurses that are willing to do anything to help a patient at the drop of a hat. I know this is difficult, but you're disturbing other patients, and the longer I stand here yelling at you, the less Mr. Kane’s survival rates are.”

And praise the Lord, this got them to shut up and sit down. 

Jonathan sighed, “I'll be back as soon as I can to update you. For now, just sit and relax, or go home and shower. It’ll be a little while before you hear anything." 

With that, Jonathan disappeared behind the doors to wash up for the surgery. 

 

_______________

 

Jonathan dried off his hands on a rag as he pushed the door open with his hip. Dr. Lundqvist followed closely behind. Jonny had shed his lab coat and remained in his scrubs. He was exhausted. It was nearly five in the morning, and his shift had started at eleven thirty last night. 

He tossed the rag to Maggie, who plopped it in the laundry bin. He fixed his stethoscope around his neck as he went to talk to the team. To his surprise, no one had left. In fact, there was more people here than before. 

John Hayden and slapped a couple of the guys awake when he noticed Jonathan and Hank walking over. They, plus every single woman that was there, stood up as quickly as possible to greet him and ask about their teammate. 

Jonathan met them with a smile. “Mr. Kane is going to be just fine.”

The entire room fell into relieved sighs and soft sniffles. 

“The surgery was a success,” the doctor explained, “We went in with our neurosurgeon, Dr. Lundqvist-” he motioned to the man beside him, “-and were able to suction out the excess blood before it did anymore damage. I also repaired some torn muscle and tissue while Dr. Lundqvist tended to Mr. Kane’s head, working his magic to remove pressure buildup and ensure that his nerves around his neck weren't damaged.”

“Thank you both so much.” Seabrook sighed out, hugging the two doctors. Keith and Burish followed after, along with Dayna Seabrook and Hayden. 

“We took Mr. Kane to the ICU, where he will remain for the next day or so,” Hank told them, “I know you all care deeply for him, but only family is allowed in the ICU, and they must be sixteen or older.”

The group nodded in understandment, but looked upset. “How about this,” Jonathan suggested, “You each leave me your names, and when Mr. Kane has been moved out of the ICU, I'll give you a call, since you'll be able to visit after that." 

The team’s faces lit up and they eagerly wrote down their names on a sheet of paper, plus their numbers. They left then, and Jonathan threw himself into a chair. Hank sat next to him and chuckled. “Difficult shift, hm? It is almost six, Jonathan, and then you can go home and sleep.”

Jonathan moaned at the word, “Fuck, I need to _sleep_.”

Hank chuckled and ruffled Jonathan’s hair. “Take a trip down to see _him_  after this, yes? It might make you feel better.”

Jonathan smiled small and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah can do that.”

 

_______________

 

 

Jonathan took one step into _his_  room and thought to himself no, no he couldn't do that. 

 

 

_______________

 

Walking into the trauma bay the next day, Jonathan had gotten ten hours of sleep last night. He'd gotten to sleep with Snowball curled up by his feet at seven thirty in the morning and slept until two in the afternoon. He took naps throughout the day and fell asleep again at ten at night. His shift started at eight in the morning and he figured he'd had enough sleep for this shift.  

He was immediately ordered by Shawzy to go check on Mr. Kane. When he got into the room, he wasn't surprised to see that he was still asleep. After surgery like that, the guy deserved to get as much sleep as he possible could. 

He stayed asleep for the rest of the day, and apparently through the next. Jonathan didn't know for sure, because that was his day off. When he came back, though, to work another seven to eight days before his next day off, he found Shawzy greeting him with the words, “He's awake.”

Jonathan entered the ICU room, finding that yes, Patrick Kane was awake. He was squinting, groggy and pale, but he was awake. 

“Fuck, goddammit, motherfuck,” was what came out of Kane’s mouth, “God, I'm dying.” 

Jonathan chuckled. “No, Mr. Kane, you're not. You were lucky enough that me and my co-workers were able to stop you from doing so.”

Jonathan flipped through Kane’s file and checked his vitals and whatnot. “What's your full name?”

“Patrick Timothy Kane the Second.” 

“Date of birth?” 

“November 19, 1988.” 

“What year is it?”

“2017.” 

“What was the last thing you remember?”

Kane had to think a moment. “We were playing a game…god, who was it? The…the Blues? No! No, it was the Bruins. We were playing the Bruins, and I got hit. All I remember is getting pushed into the boards, then it's all black.”

 Jonathan wrote that down. “You were shoved into the boards by Charlie McAvoy. You hit your head on the glass, and you must have passed out, then you fell onto the ice and hit your head again.”

Kane winced. 

“You've got a severe concussion, Mr. Kane-" 

“Patrick. Call me Patrick, or Pat. Mr. Kane was my dad.”

Jonathan looked at him quizzically, “Patrick…you've got a severe concussion, and you had internal bleeding at the base of your skull. We were able to remove it, though. My only concern is-” He paused, trying to figure out how to word this, “Such severity on your levels.”

Patrick scoffed. “What, a concussion? I get these all the time. It's not anything to put me on the ICU about.”

 Jonathan was fuming. “It wasn't just a concussion, Mr. Kane. It was a major concussion, internal bleeding, pulled muscles, and torn tissue. Injuries like that don't just happen from one or two head hits. It's built up and not treated.”

Kane paled even more than he already had. “It was that much?” He rasped.  

The doctor nodded, “Yes. It was.” Patrick was silent, and that wasn't okay with Jonathan. “Obviously, you've been getting injuries throughout an extended period of time. Can I ask why they've never been addressed?” 

Patrick looked at the blankets. “Our team doctor.” Was all he said. Then, his face twisted in discomfort. “Do you have a trash bin or something?”

Jonathan quickly grabbed the waste basket and put it under Patrick’s chin, the hockey player throwing up into it. When he was done, Jonathan put the bin on the floor by the bedside and paged for Sharpy. The nurse came in moments later with a smile. 

“Patrick, this is Nurse Sharp,” Jonathan introduced, “He’ll be your nurse while you're in the hospital with us. Sharpy, go get some nausea medicine and inject it into his IV. When you're done, get someone to help you wheel him to a regular room. I've got some calls to make.”

 

_______________

 

Brent and Dayna Seabrook were the first to arrive after Jonathan called the team members, followed in by a couple and three girls.  

“Dr. Toews!” Seabrook called the doctor over. “You called us, to say that Kaner’s been moved from the ICU and that we can visit him now?”

Jonathan nodded, and the older woman of them all spoke up. “Hi, I'm Donna, Patrick’s mother,” he greeted, shaking his hand, “This is my husband, Patrick Senior, and our daughters, Jessica, Erica, and Jackie.” 

Patrick Senior shook his hand, too. “Thank you so much for helping our son,” he smiled wobbly, “Can we see him?”

Jonathan smiled back. “Yes, of course. Follow me.” While on the way to his room, Jonathan explained his injuries and the side effects of both the surgery and the medications. He stopped outside his door and knocked, hearing an episode of Friends turned down, along with a quiet, “Come in.” 

Jonathan opened the door and smiled at his patient. “Hey there, trooper. Up for some visitors?”

Patrick nodded, and Jonathan moved out of the way to reveal Brent, Dayna, and his family. Patrick nearly burst into tears, and he shot his arms out towards them. “Mama!”

Donna rushed forward to embrace her son as gently as possible. Jonathan slinked out of the room to let the family be.

Over the next few weeks, team members and Patrick's family came to visit him. The hospital got calls from the media, asking to talk with the doctors who saved Patrick Kane’s life. Both Jonny and Hank refused. 

Jonathan still hadn't gotten around to figuring out what Patrick had meant by saying ‘the team doctor’, so he asked Hayden on his way out of the hospital when visiting hours ended.

“Oh, Dr. Green,” he grumbled, “He's terrible. He doesn't give a flying fuck about any of us. Don't know why, but it's true. Every time one of us gets hurt, he says to ‘put some ice on it’ or ‘wrap it in a band-aid.’ Even when Saader broke his ankle, Green just said ‘take a ton of pain killers and wear a boot. You'll be fine to play’. He's absolutely ridiculous.”

And yeah, Jonathan was pissed. 

That night, he sent a strongly worded email to Joel Quenneville and Rocky Wirtz about Dr. Green, his ways of practicing, and what the others think of him. If this idiot was getting away with this, he wouldn't be for long.  

Patrick began physical therapy for his neck. His family had to fly back home – they lived in Buffalo, apparently – which left Patrick by his lonesome most of the time, since his team had practice and games, and Patrick wasn't allowed to fly with them – doctor’s orders. Patrick was disappointed. 

Jonathan found himself spending most of his time with Patrick. That is, when he wasn't aiding to other trauma patients or doing surgeries. Once, Jonathan had been paged to aid in an emergency surgery while keeping Kane company. He came back three hours later, drying off his hands. 

“Did you save a life?”

“I sure did.”

“That's my boy.”

Jonathan ignored the swell of pride he felt. Every time he'd come back from. A surgery, Patrick would ask, Jonathan would reply, and Patrick would praise. Every time, Jonathan got more and more flustered. 

Then one day, Patrick was well enough to go home. 

Jonathan watched from Maggie’s desk, hiding his sadness as he waved to the hockey player being lead out by his teammates. The blond boy waved back and yelled, “Thanks again!”

Jonathan was left alone. The trauma bay was silent, other than Maggie’s tapping on her keyboard and Sharpy and Shawzy playing paper football. He stood up after about fifteen minutes and announced, “I'm going to visit someone." 

Everyone knew who he was going to visit.  

Jonathan opened the door to the dimly lit room, nothing but the lamp on in the corner. He closed the door gently and walked over to the bed, sitting down in the chair by the bedside.

Jonathan reached out and held onto his hand that was resting delicately by his side. It was cold, lifeless, but he could feel a faint pulse under his thumb, and it gave Jonathan a little more hope, and a little more grief. 

 “Hey,” the doctor started, “It's me again. I'm sorry I didn't come visit yesterday. Patrick wanted to try a little more physical therapy and wanted me to be there-”

 Jonathan didn't notice how he was talking to his comatose friend about a patient, who was no longer his patient, on a first-name basis. 

“Anyway…” Jonathan stared at his face and suddenly, he was crying, tears pouring down his cheeks. Some collected on his chin, others falling onto the sheets below. 

“Please come back to me,” he sobbed, “God, it's been so long.” He sniffled. “It's been so long…” 

_______________

 

One week later, Patrick had a day off and decided to come visit the trauma workers. He bought everyone pizza and greeted them with hugs and thanks you’s for all they'd done for him. 

He hugged Jonathan a little tighter and a little longer than the others, and Jonathan didn't seem to mind. He hugged back just as much, and even hid his face in Pat’s shoulder. The two pulled away and just stared at each other for a few seconds, before Jonathan broke eye contact to grab a piece of pizza. 

Patrick spent the day with at trauma bay with funny hockey stories, and he continuously ordered more pizza when they ran out. 

The hockey player plopped down on Jonathan’s desk, seeing the doctor going through files and paperwork. Jonathan was also doodling in a notebook. The man quickly shut it, a red flush on his face. 

Patrick raised an eyebrow teasingly, but didn't pry. They talked about randomness and stupid nothings, and Patrick even got to watch as Jonathan and Sharpy took care of a woman who'd been in a car crash. He had to go in for surgery, but Patrick stayed nevertheless, and when Jonny came out, cleaning off his hands with that rag, Patrick grinned up at him from Jonny’s spinny chair. 

“Did you save her life?” 

“Sure did.” 

“That's my boy.”

_______________

 

Patrol had stolen Jonathan’s notebook. Well, it wasn't really stealing, since Patrick had every thought to return it. Just, after he learned Dr. Toews’s deep dark secrets. 

Jonathan was with a patient and Patrick was spending his off time at the trauma bay again. He was hiding under the desk at the nurse’s station when he opened the notebook. 

The first few pages were journal entries, about life in Chicago and how he was doing, and Pat realized that they weren't journal entries, but letters to his family that he'd never sent. 

Frowning in confusion, Patrick flipped a page. He found little drawings, doodles of meadows and the solar system and random things. Patrick had to give it to Jonny, these were pretty good. 

He turned a couple pages again to find a page full of cursive writing. Patrick looked closer and oh, oh that was his name. Jonathan was cursively writing Pat’s name in his notebook. Patrick blushed and turned the page again. 

There were only three letters: JKB. 

JKB? Who was JKB? It looked a little like it might be a monogram, but Patrick could be be sure. He flipped the page once more and found an actual journal entry from…earlier today, apparently.  

_Journal,_

_Hi again. It's Jonathan. So, I'm not the best at these, hence why this is only my third entry. But that doesn't matter, really. Sharpy said I should write when I'm upset. So, I am._

_The day’s coming up. Next week actually. It’ll be six years. I don't know why I keep hoping something will happen. Everyone says it's a lost cause. But I don't think it's a lost cause. I win think we’re a lost cause. I just miss him so much, you know?_

_Of course you don't know, you're an inanimate object._

_Anyways, Patrick’s been hanging out more at the bay. It's been nice. I haven't had a friend like this since Sidney was awake._

_But he's Patrick Kane. He's not going to…I dunno what I want him to do. Be there, I guess. Something that Sid and I haven't felt in a while._

_I should go. My shift is about to start. I'll probably never write entries again. So, bye, I guess?_

_× Jonathan ×_  

Sidney. Sidney. Who was this Sidney? Jonathan seemed really hungover whatever happened to this Sidney guy.  

Patrick felt a flare of jealousy erupt in his chest. He stood, nearly bumping heads with Shawzy. 

“Kaner! What were you doing under there?”

“Eavesdropping,” Kaner lied quickly, seeing Jonathan and Sharpy talking not too far from them. He hid the notebook behind him. “Hey, so, I heard Jonny talking about this guy, Sidney? What's up with him?” 

Shawzy’s face fell, and that made Patrick even more jealous because even Shawzy seemed to feel upset about this guy. 

“Sidney Crosby was an old friend of Jonny’s,” Shawz explained, “He was gay, and his family kicked him out. He went to stay with his boyfriend, only to find him getting it on with some chick. He ran away and somehow found Jonathan. Jonny took him in. They were best friends. Sidney even moved to Chicago with him. He was going to major in sports injuries. Jonny had no idea what he was going to do, but they were figuring it out. just the two of them, best friends.”

Patrick didn't want to hear the rest. He knew enough. He cleared his throat and Shawzy came back to reality.  

“Jon misses him, huh? Maybe they can get together? I keep overheard Sharpy say that he needs to settle down.”

Shawz furrowed his eyebrows and went to speak, but Patrick held up a hand, secretly placing the notebook on Jonny’s desk.  

“Hey, listen, I'm gonna go. Hockey stuff, you know the drill. I'll see you later.” He rushed out of the bay without a second glance. 

 

_______________

 

Patrick stayed away from the trauma bay for the next week. It was Thursday when he realized that he’d left his earbuds at the hospital. 

So, that why he was here, walking up to Maggie’s desk. She smiled at him and he asked about his earbuds, and Maggie replied, “Let me go look in the lost and found.”

Patrick thanked her and kept his head down, hoping to not draw any attention. However, he heard a familiar laugh and voice call out, “Whatever you say, Sharp. My team still won.”

Jonathan tossed a file on Maggie’s desk and pulled out another. “Hello,” he greeted Patrick, not recognizing him, “Can I help you with anything?” Patrick shook his head, and Jonathan seemed curious. “Sir? Are you alright?" 

“I'm fine!” Patrick exclaimed.

Jonathan jumped in surprise. “Patrick, hi,” his eyes widened and a faint blush creeped up his cheeks, “Thank God you're here. It's been the worst day-”

“I really don't want to talk right now, Dr. Toews.” 

Patrick’s formality had Jonathan double-taking. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I haven't seen you here in awhile? Getting sick of us?"

It was meant to be a joke, but Patrick couldn't help but mutter, “Getting sick of you.”

Jonathan hadn't missed it, and he frowned, hurt slightly by Patrick’s statement. “Well uh, what can I do for you?”

“Nothing _you_ can do,” Patrick rolled his eyes, “Maggie’s just looking for my earbuds.”

Jonathan turned away. “Right. Well-”

“Why are you still here,” Patrick snapped, “Don't you have someone’s life to save or something?”

Jonathan flinched. “I suppose…” he trailed, “Are you okay?”

“Oh my god, stop talking to me,” Patrick groaned, “I've got things to do. Since you’ve got so much time, why don't you go call your man? Or fix someone’s head? I'm sure you're great at giving it." 

Jonathan was taken aback, and at this point, some of the workers had paused to watch the scene unfold. 

“I-I’ve never…given head, Patrick." 

“Oh I'm sure you have. Do you flirt with all your patients when you've got a guy at home?”

“What? Guy? Patrick, I'm single.”

“Then what, you're just some manwhore? I'm sure Sidney would love that.”

Jonathan froze at Sidney’s mention. “How did you…”

“You're not exactly subtle when talking,” Kaner huffed, “Plus I stole your notebook to read it. I would have felt bad at one point, but now it’s just proof that you're just an asshole. Sidney would be so disappointed.”

Sharpy covered his mouth with his hand and Jonathan stopped moving. His eyes filled with tears and he took a step backwards. “I…”  

Patrick shook his head. “Whatever. I'll just buy a new pair of earbuds.” With that, he stalked out of the trauma bay. 

Jonathan stood in place, staring at the doors that Patrick just exited out. He was fully aware he was crying, but it wasn't until Sharpy put a hand on his arm that Jonathan made a run for the elevators. 

 

_______________

 

Patrick's mood was shown through how he played. He played rough his next two games, back to back, away at the Stars and home for the Wild. His penalties piled up, and he decided in the beginning of the third at the away game to just stay in the penalty box. 

“The hell is wrong with you, man?” Seabs snapped as they filed into the locker room after their embarrassing loss against the Wild.

Patrick rolled his eyes. “Nothing? I just have a new game attitude. Got us a couple goals, didn't it?”

“It also got the other team tens, since one of our best players was handing out power plays. What the fuck, man?”

“Just get off my back-”

“Kaner?”

“ _What_?”

He turned, surprised to see Shawzy standing by the doorway. “Can we talk?” He looked timid, obviously intimidated by all the sweaty hockey players. “It's about Jonny.”

“Jonny? Is that what this is about? You're fighting with Dr. Toews?” 

“I think he's jealous.”

“Shut the fuck up, Duncs.”

“Patrick,” Shawzy begged, “Please. It's important. You never let me finish the story.” 

Kaner looked down into his bag, fighting back the hurt in his chest. “I heard enough, Andrew.”

“You didn't hear the part where Sidney fell into a coma.”

Kaner all but froze. Fucking…a coma? Shit. That changes things, a little. 

The team shoved one another out of the locker room to skate laps around the ice. It was just Patrick and Shawzy. 

“Sidney and Jonny were walking down the street one day, since the grocery store was just a block from their apartment,” Shawzy started his story again, “There was this little girl in the street, Molly. She was only two and she was stumbling ‘n stuff. This drunk driver came out of nowhere, and Sidney just bolted. He pushed the girl out of the way and got hit instead.”

Kaner’s heart plummeted. 

“Jonathan saw the whole thing,” Shawz continued, “People around them called for help and Jonny just kneeled there, trying to stop his friend from dying. But he didn't know what to. He wasn't a doctor back then. When he got the news that Sidney had gone into a coma, Jonathan blamed himself. He worked tirelessly, day and night to be the best trauma doctor he could be. He wanted to be ready encase something like that happened. Or more importantly, if Sidney woke up, he could be the person to treat him.”

 God, Kaner felt awful. All that had happened to Sidney, and Jonathan had to witness it. And what did Patrick do? He was a dick about it. A fucking dick. There was no sugarcoating it or beating around the bush. 

“They were never in love, Patrick. They were practically brothers. Jonny felt so happy when the two of you started to click. That JKB he wrote in his notebook? That was monogram. Jonathan Bryan Kane, in monogram form. JKB. He loved you. Then you blew up on him, and he hasn't been the same.”

Kaner looked up from unlacing his skates. “What do you mean?”

“He's depressed, man,” Shawz frowned, “He hasn't smiled, he snaps at people, and he always looks like he's been crying. You uh, you kind of blew up on him on the day Sid got hit." 

Patrick paled. “I did?”

Shawzy nodded. “Yep. Six year anniversary.” 

Kaner held his head in his hands. “Oh my god, I'm a horrible person.”

Shawzy nodded again. “Yeah. You are. But now that you've admitted it, there's only one thing you can do?”

Kaner lifted his head, “What's that?”

Shawz smiled reassuringly. “Go apologize.”

 

_______________

 

Okay, so, apologizing was a lot more difficult than Patrick thought it would be. 

He went to the hospital, but Maggie said that it was Jonathan’s day off. She also threw his earbuds at him. They'd been cut into pieces. And yeah, Patrick deserved that.  

Sharpy had thrown a water bottle at him and called him a douchebag, and yes, Patrick deserved that too. 

When Sharpy had calmed down enough, he told Patrick where Jonathan lived so he could apologize in person because so help him God, if Patrick texted his apology, Sharpy threatened to cut off his fingers and shove them up his ass. 

So, that's how Patrick found himself standing in front of Jonathan’s door, knocking bonelessly. He suddenly felt nauseous and lightheaded. He needed to pull himself together before-

Jonathan opened the door, eyes brimmed red with tears. There was a fluffy white kitten on his shoulder, and she hissed at Patrick when she laid eyes on him.  

Jonathan looked at Patrick, and he recoiled, sending a strike of guilt into Pat’s gut. 

“Come to yell at me again?” The doctor muttered, refusing to meet Patrick’s eyes. The kitten wrapped her tail around the back of Jonathan’s neck, like she was trying to protect him. Patrick didn't blame her.  

“I wanted to talk.” The hockey player spoke softly.  

Jonathan’s eyes flashed, “If you say one damn word about Sid, so help me God-”

“No, no! Nothing like that, I…” Patrick struggled to find the words. “Jonathan I'm sorry. I had no idea what happened to Sidney. I, I was jealous, okay? Shawzy had told me about you and Sid but I never let him get to the part about the accident-” Jonathan flinched, “-and I just assumed based on what he said that you two were a thing and that he was still…conscious.” 

Jonathan was staring at his sock-covered feet, his grip on the door turning his hands a yellowish-white color.  

“I'm so sorry,” Patrick sniffled, “I'm a horrible person. I just thought…” his voice broke off. “I didn't want to lose you, and in the process, I did the one thing that would make me lose you.”

They stood in silence for a moment, and Patrick was sure Jonathan was going to let him in. 

Instead, the door shut right in his face. 

Patrick laid his head on the door and started to cry. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad that he lost the one thing in his life that he loved more than hockey. He fucked up and he couldn't fix it. 

He stayed at the door another couple minutes, with some hope that Jonathan would open the door. But he didn't, and Patrick gave up. 

He took two steps down the stairs when something hit him in the back of the head. He looked down behind him and saw a pair of keys. He picked them up and looked to the door, seeing Jonathan pulling on a coat and locking his door. 

 “Hospital,” he ordered, walking past him, “You're driving.”

 

_______________

 

The drive to the hospital was silent. No radio, no talking, Patrick had to even check that Jonathan was _breathing_. Which, he was, thank God.

Pat somehow got the courage to say, "Shawzy told me that there was a car crash earlier today. Did you save a life?"

"No."

Even though Jonathan tried to hide it, Patrick could hear the tears he fought back when he admitted that no, he couldn't save that person's life.

He pulled into a parking space by the trauma bay and followed Jonathan inside. Sharpy was on call, and apparently, his wife had come by to visit. They gave him knowing looks as Jonathan lead them to the elevators. Patrick wasn't sure where they were going, but he followed Jonathan anyway. 

They stopped outside a room, and Jonathan opened the door and went inside. Patrick followed hesitantly, and oh, they were visiting Sidney. 

Sidney looked a lot better than most coma patients Pat’s seen – though it hasn't been many. Jonathan pulled over a chair, and they took their seats. Jonathan held Sidney’s hand, and Patrick didn't feel jealous in the slightest. 

“Hey Sid,” Jonathan spoke, “It's me again. I'm with Patrick. Yes, the one I've been telling you about. And yes, the one I called an asshole yesterday.”

Patrick wasn't surprised. 

“I know, I know. I know what you're thinking. ‘What the hell, Jon?’ Well, it's Patrick, and he's an idiot. But, I love him.” Jonathan turned his head to Patrick and smiled lightly. 

“Yeah, I love him.”

 

_______________

 

 

 

Sidney woke up two days later. 

 

 

_______________


End file.
